Ander - Part 6: Subchapter 97
97
No sooner had they taken the first steps out of the crumbling trench that had almost served as Shekka's grave than a figure appeared among the swirling spirals of snow. It was only a black silhouette from this distance, backlit by a stuttering line of torches from the wall, but the way it doubled over and sped towards them told Ander all he needed to know.
"Ander!" Hezzi skidded to a halt in front of them, kicking up a fine spray of snow. He was the absolute embodiment of panic. "Did you find Mother!? Is she okay!? Is- Is-"
"She's unconscious, but I think she'll be fine." He bent forward a little so Hezzi could see her face, and the sigh of relief that rushed out of his lungs made all the struggle worthwhile.
"Oh thank the Cora... For a minute I thought... I was looking everywhere, but I didn't see where she was when the- when it all came down and it was just- it was just a big huge mess and- and- What happened to your face!?"
Ander shot a quick glance at Sarah and Kiana, hoping that they would get the message and play along. "Mother panicked when we dug her out. She thought she was under attack. She lashed out."
"She scratched you?"
"It wasn't her fault, Hezzi."
Kiana touched his elbow. "Ander?"
"It was just an accident. Right, Kiana?"
She looked up at him, but the frown creasing her brow did not bode well. She turned to face Hezzi with that same expression and said: "No. It was most certainly _not_an accident. That Wolfess knew it was Ander trying to save her, and she attacked him anyway."
"Kiana!"
"No, Ander! I will not lie about something like this! In case you've forgotten, my mother is the one who'll have to treat her, and I am not gonna go in there and tell her that this is some hurt little granny Wolf! I'm going to tell it like it is, and the way it is, Ander, is a crazy psychotic who nearly clawed your eye out! And there is no way I'll let my mother - who saved your life twice, by the way - come within a mile of this blind bitch before making absolutely certain that she is tied up so tight that she can't even wag her tail! Do I make myself clear?"
Ander did not know how to respond to that. He had been so desperate to save Shekka, and so worried about sparing Hezzi's feelings, that he hadn't thought ahead at all.
What was going to happen when she woke up again? And what about all the other Wolves, for that matter?
By jumping down into the pass, did he condemn everyone yet again?
I lost everything because of you.
Was that all he could ever do? Just take and take until the ones he loved the most had nothing left to give? Even when he tried to give back, he ended up taking instead.
Could Shekka be right about him?
As if to answer this question, a panicked yelp suddenly sprang up from a group of Foxes not too far away.
"Watch it, he's got a knife!"
"Get back, get back!"
A large Wolf, barely recognisable through the thick clumps of snow falling from his body, was lumbering around in a slow circle, brandishing a knife at any Foxes who came too close.
"Damn Foxes!" he shouted, trying to look in every direction at once. "You get away from me! I'll kill every last one of you! Just back off!"
Half a dozen Foxes drew their bows and raised their crossbows to eye level, but either the Wolf was unaware of the threat, or he simply didn't care. He spun around and swung his blade wildly, yelling and screaming, white plumes of vapour issuing from his mouth. "Puny red cowards! Bastards!"
A tall Fox in a straw hat (Ander recognised him from one of the market stalls) approached with his hands raised. "Easy, big guy. Nobody's gonna -"
The Wolf lunged forward. Or at least, he tried to. He could barely stand, let alone charge, and his attack just sort of petered out into a painful stumble before he crashed headlong into the snow, still holding on to the knife. "I'll kill you! I'll kill all..." His breath puffed up a small cloud of snow against his lips. "...all of you... Damn fffo... kill you..." He tried to swing the knife again, but his arm just flopped like a dead fish.
Enough snow had fallen off his body by now for Ander to recognise him as Torjo, one of the mid-ranking warriors. Always one of the more quiet Wolves, he'd usually spend his days hunting in the woods or practicing in the sparring ring, alternately taking out his temper on prey and friend alike.
The Fox in the straw hat (he had to keep a hand pressed firmly down on his head to keep it from blowing away) went even closer, until he was just outside Torjo's reach, and hunkered down on his haunches.
Ander felt an almost irresistible urge to yell out, to warn that Fox to get back, that Torjo was a violent Wolf who had forced more than one of his comrades to endure the pain of Shekka's doctoring knife over the years, but something held him back. Bizarrely, it didn't feel like it was any of his business. This was between Torjo and the Foxes who had chosen to risk their lives to dig him out of the snow.
"Now see, ya say that, and I'm sure ya probably could." The Fox with the straw hat spoke calmly, as if they were out in the sunshine, having a nice little conversation on a balmy summer day. "Hell, ya might even kill two or three of us before you run out of steam. But then, ya see, my friends will have ta kill ya right back. Won't be nothin' personal, 'course. They'd just havta. An' then what? I'd be dead, maybe one or two of my mates'd be dead, you'd be dead, and what good'd come of that? Nothing. Just a bunch of dead people. I won't be happy, you most certainly won't be happy, won't nobody be happy. D'ya see what I'm tryin' to say here?"
Torjo looked up at the Fox from beneath a brow covered in snow, but wouldn't answer.
Straw Hat clicked his tongue. "Well, alrighty, how's about this? You throw the knife away, nobody gets stabbed and/or shot in the face, we help you up, we take you to a nice big fire, and you don't freeze to death? Sound good? That's gotta sound good, right?"
Torjo frowned, and a small clump of snow broke off his brow and spilled across his muzzle. "I'd rather kill myself before I let you take me prisoner, you red rat!"
Straw Hat gave an exasperated sigh and shook his head. "Ain't nobody gonna take ya prisoner, ya goof! If ya'd rather go back the way ya came, through gods know how many miles of snow, be my guest. Or, just hear me out, oooooorr, ya can come with us, over yonder wall, take a left, and join all yer little buddies around a roaring fire in less than three minutes. Swear on me mum's grave."
Torjo's frown deepened even further, but he did cast a wary eye to the east, where most of the Wolves had been pressed up against the wall when the mountain came crashing down. Entire swathes had already been cleared of snow, and the bare earth of the pass showed through in patches of slate grey rock. The wall itself had been partially pushed over by all the weight, making it look more like a steep, snow-covered hill from this angle. Foxes were helping disoriented Wolves up this steep hill, careening dangerously to the left and right whenever their hopelessly oversized charges listed one way or the other. They carried the unconscious Wolves up the side in groups of four, a single Fox for every limb. Panting and wheezing, they dug their feet into the snow, looking for purchase.
Torjo's eyes flicked back to Straw Hat. "What are you planning!?" he demanded, holding up his knife. "Why are you digging us up!?"
"Because otherwise you'd die," Straw Hat replied and rolled his eyes, as if this should have been the most obvious thing in the world.
"THAT'S THE POINT!!" Torjo screamed. The tendons in his neck stood out like cords and his eyes practically bulged out of their sockets. "This is war, you stupid piece of filth! We kill you! You kill us! Most kills win! That's the whole point!"
"Eeeh..." Straw Hat shrugged. "Didn't we already establish that'd do nobody any good? I think we already established that."
"No we didn't! You're crazy! You're all crazy!"
"Alright, I've had just about 'nuff of this. Do you want to die?"
"I want to kill you, you piece of -"
"Do you want to die?"
"I want -"
"Do you want to die?"
Torjo looked to all the bows trained on him, the arrowheads with their metallic points covered in a thin layer of frost. The anger didn't depart completely, but Ander thought he might have spotted a trace of fear inside those frantic eyes.
Straw Hat leaned a little closer. "Is that a no? Then I really don't see the problem here, big guy. You don't wanna die, we don't wanna die, you wanna get out of the cold, we wanna get out of the cold, so what do you say? Can you get rid of that knife, huh?" Straw Hat extended his hand, and Ander's heart rate doubled in the span of a second.
This was it. This was the moment of choice.
Come on, Torjo, he prayed. Don't be an idiot...
Ander knew what an arrow could do to a living thing. He knew that half an inch could mean the difference between a quick, clean death and unimaginable torture. He knew that most of the Foxes here had never shot anything other than deer before, and he knew that they desperately did not want to fire at someone capable of speaking, of begging for his life, of thinking and choosing, someone who had eyes no different from their own.
Torjo's hand tightened around the haft of the knife - tightened so hard his knuckles stood out like pebbles.
Torjo...
He licked his lips.
Torjo, please...
He sighed and tossed the blade aside. It sunk into the snow and was quickly covered by the wind.
"Now was that so hard?" Straw Hat seized him by the hand. "Oy, guys! I could use a little help here!"
They all shouldered their bows and rushed forward. Even though Straw Hat was tall and lanky for a Fox, he was positively dwarfed by Torjo's muscular frame the moment they got him back on his feet.
"I don't understand," he mumbled as they led him towards the wall.
Straw Hat clapped him on the back. "That's okay, big guy. Ya ain't the first Wolf to ask that question tonight, and ya probably won't be the last. Ya just focus on not droppin' dead and we'll get you someplace warm, alright?"
Ander looked down at the she-wolf in his arms, the one he had called 'Mother' his whole life. He knew they were taking a huge risk. There was everything to lose, and almost nothing to gain. They were gambling with their very lives, and if Kiana was to be believed, he was the one who had cast the first die. But if there was hope, if there was even the smallest chance, then wasn't it worth the risk?
Maybe. But what about the women and children deeper in the valley, waiting for their husbands and brothers to come home? What if they learned that the threat had been defeated, smothered like a bed of embers, only to be reignited by their own hands?
Did these people come to aid their enemies because they knew no other way of living, or because he had led them down this path? Would they have thrown away their fears to save those who would tear their throats out, regardless of his actions?
Let them freeze to guarantee the safety of the ones you love? Or save them, just for the chance that they might see the light of the next morning?
Kill your enemies to protect your family, or save them all at the risk of your loved ones for the slim chance that everyone might survive?
Condemnation, or redemption?
Death, or mercy?
Which was right and which was wrong?
Ander bowed his head and continued on, holding Shekka close. The wind slammed into his back as if urging him to make haste.
What if they dig up Banno?
That thought appeared from out of nowhere, stopping him dead in his tracks. Hezzi almost walked right into him.
"Ander? What's wrong?"
Ander looked back at the field of snow he had created. With all the holes being dug everywhere, it now looked more like a graveyard. His eyes roamed the entirety of the pass, scanning left to right, half-expecting a certain spot to grab his gaze like a fishhook, maybe give off a black aura, or a scent, but there was nothing.
Banno could be anywhere in all that white. Anywhere at all.
"Ander?"
He could run back through the pass and scream at everyone to stop digging. Maybe they'd listen, and maybe they wouldn't. But if they did, what did that mean? Every Wolf they would have dug up after that, but didn't, would be on him. Their blood would flow over his hands, and for what? Just to negate the chance that they might end up saving the most evil Wolf to ever live? A Wolf they might never find anyway? A Wolf who might be dead already? A Wolf who might be incapable of doing any harm even if he wasn't?
But what of the reverse? What if they did find Banno? What if he was still alive? What if he... hurt someone?
That would be on him, too.
Death, or mercy? What did any of that mean when death for one could mean mercy for many, and mercy for many could lead to the deaths of many more?
Which was right and which was wrong?
"It's nothing," Ander said, turning back towards the broken wall.
Maybe there was no right or wrong answer. Maybe, instead of changing the entire world, all he could do was change the way he saw the world and himself. It would definitely be easier. But...
It didn't feel right.
Ander carefully slid down to the bottom of the massive trench the Foxes had dug right in front of the wall, where most of the Wolves had been rescued thus far. It was a strange sensation, after struggling through soft, powdery snow for so long to suddenly have hard rock beneath his feet once again. Every bump and pebble seemed to stab at him like tiny knives.
It was down here, in this strange spot between death and salvation, where two different peoples had clashed for the first time, that Ander got a serious dose of cold, hard reality.
There was a line of Wolves lying side by side beneath a rocky outcropping, far away from the hustle and bustle of the rescue effort. Ander counted eight pairs of feet, but he had no way of knowing who they belonged to, because a merciful soul had placed a tarp over their faces as a sign of respect.
They were dead.
Ander's breath hitched in his throat. If he hadn't been carrying Shekka in his arms, he might have broken down right there, just collapsed to the ground and started screaming and screaming.
He was wrong. There weren't just eight pairs of feet. There were nine. He had missed the last one because it was so much smaller than the others. Barely half their size, tucked in amongst the rest.
The ninth body was that of a child. Smaller than Hezzi. Smaller even than Renna.
Kiana touched his elbow. "Come on, Ander. We can't stay out here."
Ander couldn't tear his eyes away. Such a tiny pair of feet sticking out from underneath that tarp. The corners were weighed down with stones, but they still flapped in the wind. Those feet, however, would never move again. They would never walk, or run, or sprint, or jump, or swim, or climb, or play.
"Please, Ander..." Kiana tugged on his arm. "Please, can we get moving? I don't... I don't want to stay out here!" She wasn't looking at him as she said that. She was looking at the drab, brown tarp with all those feet sticking out. Sixteen big ones, and two small ones.
She was crying.
Ander took a deep breath. The air was cold in his lungs and smelled of blood. Hezzi was standing at the base of the broken wall, looking down at the ground. Occasionally, his gaze would flicker up towards the tarp and he'd immediately look back down again. Sarah put a hand on his back and whispered something in his ear. He nodded, but his silvery eyes, made even brighter by his unspilled tears, remained fixed on his own feet.
Ander looked down at the she-wolf cradled in his arms. In the depths of her sleep, she had grabbed hold of Father's necklace, and he couldn't help but wonder what kinds of thoughts and dreams she might be having in this moment. Whatever they were, they had to be better than reality.
They had to be better than seeing all this death.
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